


'Til We're Satisfied

by LunarAsylum



Series: Lowcountry [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Dreams and Nightmares, Established Relationship, M/M, Morning Sex, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 17:31:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7854463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunarAsylum/pseuds/LunarAsylum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knew where he was, and what he was doing there, and for once in his life since the fall, he felt safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Til We're Satisfied

Water permeated every fiber of his being, entering him like breath on a cold day, stinging at his lungs until he burned from the inside out. Exhale. Lifting his head from the deafening rush of his bath, he gasped, chest swelling with a large gulp of air, eyes fluttering shut as the fire subsided. Or so he wished. The flames would never die so long as he breathed. Exhale. 

 

His eyes fluttered open, blurred by drops of liquid, blinking rapidly in order to rid himself of them, focusing in front of him before nearly scrambling from the tub, breaths coming rapidly as the liquid splashed around him. It wasn’t water, but blood that surrounded him, dripping down the sides of the white porcelain in stark contrast, glaring back at him as if a reminder of all that he’d done. His fingers were curled tightly over the lip of the tub, chest heaving as his eyes had clenched shut, praying for it to not be real, for it to be another dream, or a vivid hallucination even.

 

“Buck?”

 

He heard the voice, familiar as it always was, but he always seemed to have trouble identifying it. His eyes moved rapidly beneath his eyelids, still not daring to open them for the fear of seeing all that blood again. The blood of his victims, of every single person he’d killed in the last 70 years. 

 

“Bucky?”

 

There it was again, taunting him, begging to infuriate him, and the flames were bold again. His chest fell and rose, slow, but unsteady, deep and filling with a rage unlike any other. Why? Why did this have to happen to him? Why was he the one to be saved?

 

“Buck, c’mon.”

 

The rage burst, and his eyes flashed open, and he was no longer encased in blood. A soft fabric surrounded him, his body on fire, causing them to stick to his body, and he was only just realizing he was gasping. A dream. It was just a dream. Turning his head, a face was put with the voice. Steve. Steve Rogers. Captain America. 

 

No, not here. He wasn’t the hero everyone needed. Not now. Without a second though, he was curled against him, the sticky feeling of his clothing only getting worse as he pressed his legs together and against the blond’s. There was no hesitation as Steve easily took him into his hold, curling around him as if to become his blanket, his safety. There was no safety from the depths of his mind. He only was just realizing a very blatant ache in his side, growing worse with each breath he took in. 

 

In an attempt to relax, he dropped his shoulders, hearing the same mechanical response of his left arm as usual, and the pain began to dissipate, allowing him to acknowledge that it was himself that had caused it to begin with. He was fairly certain he’d broken a rib, but it would heal as it always did, and he would live on another day. This panic would die, and the sun would shine in the form of Steve, radiating a joy only he could bring. Night would come to set him alight afterwards. 

 

“Time ‘s it?” he mumbled, having only just recaptured his breath, swallowing it into submission. Steve shifted, his right arm lifting a little to acquiesce to his movement. He heard the scraping of the clock against the nightstand before the blond had him engulfed in his arms again, and he could breathe a little easier again. 

 

“4:47,” came the reply, and the guilt rose up as it always did, threatening to take control and spew useless apologies and utterances of a lack of self-worth. “And before you say it, don’t apologize. You didn’t wake me up.” 

 

He stretched out, pulling away from Steve momentarily, expanded before contracting just like the cat Steve often said he was, curling up against him again. He despised that comparison. Breathing out a puff of annoyance at his own thoughts, he found himself both wanting to press closer to the blond’s heat, and yet the sweat giving him a second skin was enough persuasion to push him away. Rolling onto his back, he stared at the blank ceiling, marred by the blur of the ceiling fan. He focused on it, catching one blade and letting his gaze follow it’s rapid pace, urging it to cool him faster.

 

“Wha’ were you up for?” he slurred, turning his head against the pillow, letting his gaze focus on the blond’s face instead of the color of his pillowcase. He shrugged. 

 

“Couldn’t sleep. Dunno why, but I just got this bad feeling,” he said almost bashfully, as if though he didn’t want to admit it, but they both knew he was a shit liar. He knew it best of anyone. 

 

“Dream?”

 

“No,” he said, accompanying it with a shake of his head. It only ruffled his hair more, causing it to stick out straight on the sides. His love for Steve’s bedhead would never die. It almost gave him life.  _ Almost _ . 

 

“What then?”

 

He breathed in, that same pensive way he had when he wanted to say something, but was holding it back. That left him on edge more than anything he could’ve said. The gears in his head were turning, working overtime, and he could practically see it clear as day, despite the darkness that surrounded them. Sometimes, his vision was a curse. 

 

“I dunno, Buck. God, I wish I did, cause that would make this feeling easier.”

 

He understood that. Knowledge was power, and fear was really the lack thereof. That was how he’d functioned as the Winter Soldier, mostly. Aside from the Hydra brainwashing. Knowledge had been his best power, knowing when, where, how and why before anyone else did was just about the same as having magic it seemed. Though, he’d seen  _ real _ magic, and information would never compare to it.

 

“Anythin’ I can do?” His voice was quiet, as though he was unsure if his offer would be accepted, but Steve never turned him away. That unrelenting want of his to keep him safe was endearing, but his was particularly biased. They both were, it seemed, though, he’d never let it go for a damn thing. This was his second chance, one he wasn’t sure he really deserved, but the blond was fairly insistent upon it. Steve had always been that way. Really, that was how they’d both gotten to this point in the first place. 

 

Steve was silent for a long moment, and he was only realizing just how much he hated silence more than useless rambling. At least he could tune out things he didn’t care to hear, but this was deafening. The blond shifted in an instant, and without really processing what was happening, his lips were claimed, words stolen before they were even thought of. His response was instant, natural and even bordering second nature, the warmth from him no longer overbearing. His fingers grazed over the curve of his jaw on their path to his hair, wanting to ensure he couldn’t go too far. 

 

It was a light passion, the easiness of long time lovers in a way where it was wild without being rampant. They had fallen into such a rhythm together that he honestly didn’t know what he would do if it was disrupted. Just as swiftly as he’d been kissed, Steve’s weight was settling against his hips, a kind of pressure he’d grown used to in the past line of months, one he’d come to enjoy in more ways than the physical. He hadn’t been expecting this kind of silent demand to aid the blond’s unease, but he was closer to being overjoyed than complaining. 

 

Sleep still weighed his limbs, and he could still feel the ache of his arm curled tightly around his chest in an attempt to break himself, but Steve would always be welcome to make him forget. At least it was temporary, no need for aids or some blow to the head to bring back sense. He tensed at the spark of pain initiated by Steve’s hands pressing up over his chest, part of his weight in them, before they were resting at his shoulders, as if meant to be a human stay weight. Not as if he’d ever go anywhere when this is what the blond wanted of him. 

 

Teeth nipped at his bottom lip, a sharp sensation that brought his attention back there, eyelids fluttering from having been lulled into a sense of safety than anything else. Licking his bottom lip, he pushed against the hold on his shoulders, reclaiming heaven, his right hand moving to the blond’s hips, anchoring himself in the ocean. Unlocking his left hand, he flexed the fingers outwards, raising them to pull stars down, letting them curl as gently as possible into Steve’s blond lockes. The feeling of his fingers slide down, nearly disappearing one side, as his palms rested against his upper arms, one made of metal and most certainly cold beneath the blond’s fingers, but he didn’t acknowledge it if it was. 

 

Lips easily created a trail across his flesh, clinging to the dangerous cliff of his jaw, before traversing down, over the hills and mountains of his neck and shoulder to the plains of his chest, his tongue lapping as if he were a drink. Even now, despite having felt this a thousand times, it felt foreign. Not in a bad way, but he would insist he didn’t deserve it if Steve would listen. Every time he’d tried, Steve had silenced him with a kiss and a well placed hand. His motions would be languid, making a point in his patience until he’d run dry of silent words. 

 

A gasp pressed forward, bringing him back to the now at the feeling of teeth dragging against his abdomen, and oh, he was praying to god that Steve was going to do it, because he loved it when he got adventurous with the capabilities of his mouth. The waistband of his sleep pants snapped back against his skin, and suddenly both of Steve’s hands were gone, and he felt naked. The coolness was seeping back into his skin now that the blanket had been peeled away, yet he couldn’t remember when. There was no comfortable weight against his hips, rocking with the motion Steve always had when he was kissing him. 

 

Instead, hands had the sheets bunched up at his knees, and his teeth were firmly clenched over the top of his pajamas, and the sheets lifted up against him in a silent demand. He shifted, digging his elbows into the bed, and lifting himself up enough that Steve could pull the pants down, his eyes watching with a dull lust, a hunger bubbling in the pit of stomach as if though the blond were breakfast. No, he was sure that  _ he _ was about to become breakfast. 

 

Fingers curled at his waist, grabbing the band of his underwear and swiftly pulling them down and he flopped back against the bed as if though it had truly been effort. He heard a scoff of a chuckle from Steve at that, a half grin curling his lips at that, before clothing was being pulled over his feet and heard them hit the floor with a blind toss. It was now that he was glad Steve liked to sleep in his boxers. Less clothing to remove in the end, but that thought was lost instantly, no warning as a hot mouth engulfed him and he sucked in a sharp breath. 

 

The blond had made an almost habit of this ritual whenever they had sex in the morning. Apparently, he liked the sleepy reactions he got until he was fully at attention, physically and mentally. It made him feel whorish, because if he was honest, he’d happily fuck the mouth off Steve, and he had little doubt that the man would stop him. Sometimes, that thought made him feel inhuman. As if though he just wanted to use Steve to get off, but that was half the point of sex. To enjoy yourself. Without a doubt, he clearly enjoyed himself when he was giving head. 

 

A needy groan managed to escape him when he felt Steve pull away, stars burned into the backs of his eyelids, threatening to blind him to everything. He didn’t even bother opening his eyes, feeling the blond’s weight move against the bed, the blatant loss of warmth a clear statement that he’d moved away. Heat sank into his body again when he came back, pressing fully against him, and clearly void of underwear. Humming a low moan, he accepted a kiss blindly, before Steve was pulling back, and a hand was rolling a condom over him, as per usual. His teeth chewed on his lip in a plea to withhold the moan that built behind them, the blond’s fingers seeming to mold to him in a way that nothing else could, giving and taking pressure expertly. Years of practice, he’d been told, but with whom, he’d not bothered to ask. Mostly because he didn’t want to know.

 

That hand pulled back for a moment, the snap of a bottle cap reaching his ears, and he inhaled deeply, as if though somehow it would prepare him, but it never did. Steve’s deft fingers were back at him, withdrawing a small moan as they expertly coated him, and his hands locked into the sheets, praying for some kind of grounding but heaven kept lifting him higher and higher, leaving the oceans of his mind behind. His weight was shifted against the bed, and Steve’s fingers curled a little tighter around him, his eyes opening just in time to watch him sink down around him. 

 

A breathy groan fell from the blond, his face twisted with pleasure, and it only fueled the suddenly ravenous desire that consumed him. Desperation urged him to take control, to take Steve and make him one with the bed, but he couldn’t. There was a nagging voice in the back of his head, telling him to stay put, to remain as he was, because that’s what he was made to do. The pit in his stomach turned cold for a moment, but then the blond was moving, and all was right with the world again. There was not a thing on this earth that could compare to the man he loved. 

 

He swore that he could taste heaven and hell simultaneously, lust burning at his tongue, pulling sounds from his lungs like a wire. Each moan collided with one from the blond, the sounds almost endless from him as he moved, one hand pressing into his thigh, while the other worked at himself. It was like playing with a devil who looked like an angel, easily taunted into sinning, over and over again, but for him, every misstep was worth it, if it led to this every night. Steve gave him purpose, breathing life into his lungs, filling him with that same stubbornness from when they were younger.

 

Resilience was their strong suit; outliving, and beating down everyone and everything that tried to tear them down, to lay waste to what was already ashes. Each time, they’d risen stronger, burned brighter, never stopping, and now, he would swear they were invincible. He knew better though, remembering how metal could tear through flesh, how fragile his own mind still was, and probably always would be. Yet when given purpose, they were unbeatable. Even now, like this, with Steve above him, pleasure becoming his mother tongue, speaking through movement, there wasn’t a thing that could stop them. 

 

His fingers pressed forward, dividing air, breaking waves to feel him, one hand flesh, the other metal, lapping at the skin of his hips before following the grooves up to his abdomen, soaking him in. Steve’s euphoria seemed to seep into him, an addiction in its own right as he seemed to dance in his own way. He followed along with ease, eyes reluctantly fluttering shut to accommodate the endless breaths and groans that seemed to want to reach the blond with haste. 

 

Within an instant, Steve’s hand was occupied with his own, a whine accompanying the falter in his movement, but he easily replaced him with his right hand, chest swelling with the heat he received. It was like he could feel Steve’s heartbeat, stronger than ever, giving proof of his vitality in a way he constantly sought. His mind was constantly overloaded with fear and hopes that this lasted, that the blond didn’t revert back to the frail and sickly boy from Brooklyn who could be knocked over with a stiff breeze, and bruised with a handshake. 

 

Their movements bordered on reckless, becoming fervent with each meeting of their hips, Steve’s voice growing in magnitude, seeming to shake him to his core. He would never tire of it, never stop craving to hear just how far he could push his lover’s voice until it cracked, letting him peek past the barriers that had become second nature. He could see his soul, watch as it burned and tried to blind him, his skin soaking in the rays, letting it warm the coldness his own soul had become. They were opposites, and for that, he’d never been happier. 

 

He could tell that despite all their stamina, that the blond wouldn’t last much longer, that his need for this, for the distraction of it had left him so sensitive to the physical of it. Honestly, there was an aspect of it that felt impersonal, as if they hardly knew each other and this was just their fun for the night, but he knew Steve. There wasn’t a part of this that was unusual when he got stressed or anxious. Really, he couldn’t blame him in the slightest, as it was their best way to release a lot of energy in a small amount of time. His breath was stolen with each rotation of Steve’s hips, attempting to leave him breathless, and coming damn close each time. 

 

His fingers worked deftly at the blond, curling, squeezing and thumbing at him with each movement, enjoying the buck of his hips and the moan from his lips, drinking it in like a frozen drink on a summer day. Steve was that summer, bright and full of warmth and energy, keeping him happy and afloat in the dark times of winter. The pitch began to rise, encouraging his own moans to fall louder, faster than before, the knot in his abdomen growing taut and threatening to break, letting him fall over the edge as he always did, but this time Steve would be there with him. 

 

Every roll of his hips brought forth another sound, creating waves like a breezy day, letting the ocean lap at the shore, rising higher and higher until the tide was in, ready to swallow them both whole. His chest was swelling, trying to hold onto the air that was insistent upon leaving him. The tightness felt as if it were trying to pull him apart from the inside, his whole body going rigid, blunt fingernails grasping for grounding against Steve’s skin. Mindless words were falling from the blond, mixtures of ‘fuck’s and ‘oh god’s, his name sprinkled in like a topping. 

 

His mind was lost, suddenly overtaken by nothing but pleasure, Steve’s movement becoming almost frantic. Everything was hazy and dark behind his eyelids, the pleasure rolling over him in waves, the blond’s breath following close behind. Hands were against his chest, obviously for support, and with a lazy smile and deep breath he opened his eyes. Only for nightmare to ensue, sucking in a sharp breath as his body quivered. He was no longer where he thought he was, at least, not happily, Steve above him, half clothed, half bloodied, eyes glazed as though he was on the edge of death. 

 

Raising his hands, they were drenched in blood, and he heard a soft ‘why?’, eyes moving to focus back onto Steve, shaking his head. No, no, how did  _ this _ happen? This shouldn’t be happening, they were happy.  _ He _ was happy. This had to be fake, all of it, he couldn’t--. There was no way this was real, it couldn’t be real. He clenched his eyes shut, begging, pleading with his mind to let it all be a fabrication. He’d even take the sex being in his imagination, because at least then he would be responsible for Steve’s death. What if that had been an imagining? A lie his mind told him to mask what he was really doing. 

 

His heart was pounding wildly, breaths coming in stunted, chest aching, letting that pain spread to the rest of his body, and then he was cold. Frozen to the bone, and immobile, and there was fear. Fear of breathing, of trying to move, of anything outside of just being cold. He could hear something, maybe it was his own breathing, but last he’d checked, his own breaths didn’t sound like a name. 

 

“Bucky.”

 

It wasn’t a question. Nor a plea for him, it just was. Like a mantra, it was said a few times, and he knew that voice. He knew it, and it was the voice of his savior, but he felt so _damn_ cold. It called out again, and he sucked in a deep breath, and warmth began to spread from that. His lungs burned, begging for use, crying out to cry out. 

 

“Bucky, can you hear me?”

 

He wanted to nod, to acknowledge that voice so desperately, but it was still hard, still impossible. Another deep breath passed more warmth to him, and slowly, his fingers curled. Movement was reintroducing itself to him, curling his toes, and slowly but surely, rotating his ankles and wrist, letting the feeling become normal again. He didn’t understand why it wasn’t, why he was so stiff when he’d just been moving. 

 

“Good, you can still feel everything. Bucky, can you talk?”

 

He wanted to nod, to give them some kind of affirmation that he was alive, and he was still human, not the monster Hydra wanted, but he didn’t know if he could talk. Swallowing thickly, he realized he wanted water. He didn’t feel starved, or particularly parched, but he wanted water. Rolling his shoulders, his head shifted against it’s resting place, and he realized it was not a bed. It was cold, metal, definitely, and he wasn’t sure where he was. 

 

“Buck, I need you to talk for me.”

 

He opened his mouth to try and say something, but all that came out was air, and his eyes flashed open, startled by his sudden inability. Swallowing again, he cleared his throat, looking around at his surroundings before his eyes landed on a man with dark skin. Tall and confident, nearly intimidating and he could swear that he knew him. Letting his gaze keep moving, it landed on a blond,  _ his _ blond. He felt a smile creep up, curving the edges of his lips as he focused on Steve, breathing in deep as relief and warmth settled into his bones. 

 

“Hey, Steve.”

 

A smile, that ever radiant expression of joy greeted him, and he felt his own joy. That was the face of the man he loved, and the man who loved him back, and he felt the happiest he could ever recall. He was okay, alive, and not injured, it seemed. There wasn’t a tell of him being unhappy, or even discomforted by something, and that was all he could’ve ever hoped for.

 

“Hey, Buck. Welcome back.” 

 

The man behind him stepped forward, capturing his attention, and he turned his head ever so slightly to give it all. He commanded a presence, even more so than Steve, and it was slowly coming back to him who this was. 

 

“Your highness,” he spoke, and earned a nod and half smile in return. 

 

“They did it, Buck. They found a way to replace your arm.”

 

It clicked. All of it had been a dream, a cryofreeze induced nightmare of what he’d been before, and he breathed. He knew where he was, and what he was doing there, and for once in his life since the fall, he felt safe. 

**Author's Note:**

> Lordy, lordy, lordy, it's been ages since I've been active. And I didn't even come back with more Supernatural stuff lol. I blame my fiancee, she's corrupted me into this mess. I call it a mess, lol. 
> 
> Anyway, I hoped y'all enjoyed. I don't know how long the series is going to be, but it's part of a series. I just wanna write, lmao.


End file.
